


Good omens plotbunnies that won't leave me alone

by myrskytuuli



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Lucifer (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-01-10 21:39:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18416378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrskytuuli/pseuds/myrskytuuli
Summary: a collection of plotbunnies for Good Omens that won't leave me alone, but won't develop into real stories either. Crossovers aplenty, etc.chp. 1. Azi and Crowley mentoring Castiel and spn!Crowleychp. 2. Harry Potter is the antichrist... or is he?chp. 3. Lucifer knows that the fugitive Crowley is THE most dangerous demon around





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> all angels are referred with they/them pronouns, because they are inherently genderless beings.

Aziraphale and Castiel

 

In the beginning, angels were not warriors. God’s first children were created to sing, to worship, to love. The Archangels were the first, and they taught their younger brethren to take delight in all of these things.

Then came the war and angels had to accept a new role, a role of a warrior. They had to learn how to use weapons against their kin, to put aside singing in favour of fighting.

Some took easily to their new role. (Michael) Some did not. (Gabriel) Most accepted their new role with the same devotion that they had shown for all of their former duties. (And some secretly felt that carrying a sword wasn’t quite _them_ , might end up giving it away if the opportunity ever came.)

But if heaven after the war now had a surplus of newly created weapons, it lacked on angels to wield them. Approximately half of the host had fallen, and this meant that new angels were needed. New angels who could protect heaven and Earth from the adversary and their followers.

These new angels were not created to sing praises, they were created to defend creation. They were strong, they were resolute, they were loyal and unquestioning.

But even the fiercest apex predator starts out as an awkward and helpless baby, and while angels are technically created unchanging and fully mature, they do need time to _learn_ and _grow_ into their terrifying-weapon-of-God existence.

This is where the original host came in. Mourning the loss of their kin, traumatised by the war, and desperate to feel love again, they were given the duty of nurturing their younger siblings and teaching them the ways of angels, so that they too would be able to serve the creator with all their capability and zeal.

When Castiel first came into being, with a whispered word of their name given to them by the creator, they were confused, bombarded by all these new sensations around them, and slightly afraid. After all the chaos of experiencing existence, there was a soothing touch of grace mingling with their own, and a voice reverberated in their consciousness, gifting Castiel with the knowledge of enochian.

Enochian, the language of the angels is a graceful language perfectly suited for the beings that spoke it, so successful translations into any human tongue are almost always impossible. However, If one were to try to translate what the warm presence soothing Castiel was saying, it would come out something like this:

“Well, look at you my dear, aren’t you just the cutest, yes you are, you little adorable wavelength. Just look at those teensy-weensy frequencies! There you go dear, just let me link you up to my grace, such a good little fledgling, oh you are a shy one aren’t you? Not to worry. There, there, I got you safe and secure little one.”

(It sounded, of course, more majestic in enochian)

What Castiel learned next, was that they were not alone. Aside from the big, safe, and warm presence that kept Castiel folded in the embrace of their own grace, there were others like Castiel. Small wavelengths that didn’t quite know how to _be_. These were: Anael and Uriel, whose frequencies were stronger and steadier than Castiel’s; This was because they had been created before Castiel, and had already had time to learn how to manage themselves somewhat; There was Balthazar, who had also been just created, and was just as messy, and all-over as Castiel, if not maybe in a more robust and brave manner.

“I am Aziraphale.” Said the warm and safe being holding them all in cradle of their grace. “And I will be taking care of you little ones, for now.”

 

Aziraphale helped them to find the limits of where one’s own wavelengths ended and others' started. How to feel yourself and how to manipulate yourself according to your will. How to vibrate in different frequencies and how to turn your inner thoughts into speak. How to listen to the hum and chatter of the host, and how to make others in the host hear you. How to sign praises for the creator, and how to harmonise with the others to sign hymns.

(“they are warriors, Aziraphale! They don’t need to know and memorise every single hymn that we have ever sung.” Pointed out Zachariah, in a _tone_.

“Proper appreciation for the arts is a vital for anyone.” Answered Aziraphale, also in a _tone_.)

And when they could feel themselves properly as part of the host, Aziraphale took them from the upper spheres of heaven to the physical world, all brand new. In the physical world, there were all new things to learn and to absorb.

Holding a form that was not just a Wavelength of Celestial Intent for one.

Aziraphale handled his wings, heads, eyes (and there were a lot of them), limbs, wheels, and heavenly flames effortlessly, if maybe a tad fussily. What seemed so easy to Aziraphale, was anything but to the fledglings who were still getting used to the idea of physical matter.

The trickiest part of the whole “physical form” experience were the wings; That was what Castiel resolutely believed, hunkering at the edge of one of Saturn’s rings, wings trembling and the space around them so vast and great and terrifying.

“There now, dear. You’ll get the hang of it very easily, don’t you worry. All the others were afraid too when taking the first leap.”

Castiel was not sure of this at all. Anael and Uriel had jumped off without hesitation and Balthazar had done a little flip, all eyes defiant and flaming, with bravado.

“Just remember, I will catch you if you don’t make it. You have absolutely nothing to worry about”.

Castiel flapped their wings once and then twice, trying to appear braver than they felt. Their wheels still spun fast and the flames licking those wheels sputtered unevenly. Aziraphale graciously ignored these signs of nervousness, and nudged Castiel with one of their heads in encouragement.

When all of castiel’s eyes were on Aziraphale, said angel flung themselves to the open space, demonstrating the way to open your wings to glide through the empty darkness, shining bright with celestial light.

Castiel flapped their own wings, made to jump, hesitated, tried again, still stopped right at the edge, and flapped their wings in frustration. Anael and Uriel were small specks in the distance, studying the comets. Balthazar was a streak of light doing loops and twists, without a worry in the world. Soon they would notice that Castiel was the only one still on a rock. That could not be. Castiel was an angel of the lord, fearless and powerful warrior of God. They couldn’t be afraid of flying.

Before they had time to be afraid again, Castiel dropped, and spread their wings.

The world went spinning, and castiel was not in control of any of it. They tried flapping their wings, but they couldn’t right themselves at all, all of their eyes kept wildly trying to look into every direction and the gravitational pull of different heavenly bodies was too much for them to control where they kept falling. When the panic had built to its peak, with Castiel’s wings flapping a panicked, uneven rhythm that did nothing but disorient Castiel more, a strong hold came around them, warm and steady.

“Hush now. Calmly, my dear. I’m here, I’ve got you. Let your grace settle, vibrate with me dear, high and low, high and low, there you go. Now. Extend those wings, all the way. Let’s do this together. Now flap slowly, I’ll keep holding, just flap your wings together with me. Let’s find a rhythm.”

With Aziraphale’s grace a steady presence against Castiel’s own, Castiel was able to calm themselves and let their wings fall into a steady beat following the rhythm Aziraphale set with their owns. Gradually the hold Aziraphale had on Castiel’s form retreated, until only one appendage was lightly holding onto Castiel’s own and Castiel was steadily gliding through space on their own power.

“See dear. I knew you would pick it up just like that. Well done Castiel.”

Aziraphale let go of Castiel entirely, but the warm hum of their grace stayed a comforting background sensation nearby, as Castiel stretched their wings and did a little roll of delight.

 

Aziraphale would take them all around the galaxy, to witness the birth of new stars, to race with comets, and to explore meteor fields. Aziraphale even showed them the basics of sword-wielding, but they are not a very enthusiastic teacher when it comes to the art of war. They are much happier to take the fledglings to hover over Earth, the planet still under construction for the day that Man shall finally awaken in the garden, and to marvel at the fluffy clouds swirling around the planet in such pretty patterns.

When the day (and the concept of days in general) is announced for the arrival of the Man, it came time for their excursions to end. Aziraphale has been appointed the honour of guarding the eastern gate from the forces of hell, and the new generation of angels, it is decided, will join the garrisons and start learning the art of war in depth.

Aziraphale is talking about corporations with the angel tasked with crafting them (a shape close enough to the Man that they will not frighten the new creature too much if he comes across the guardians by the gates), when Castiel barrels in and latches onto Aziraphale with their grace.

“Ah, excuse me for a moment.” Aziraphale says to the bemused crafter, trying to untangle Castiel from their person.

“Castiel?”

“They’re sending you down there, to fight demons!”

“Ah. They are sending me to guard Eden, actually.”

“From demons.”

“Yes dear, From demons.” Aziraphale acquiesced. “That is what we angels are for.”

Castiel’s wings trembled slightly. “The war was against demons, and angels died in it.”

Aziraphale would have sighed, had they been in their new corporation. As they were, they just trilled a little. “I know dear. But this won’t be like that. I’ll just be guarding the gate. It’ll be quite all right, my dear. Don’t you worry about me, you just focus on your studies in heaven.”

“Can I visit you?”

“Maybe sometimes, at the gate.” Aziraphale brushed against Castiel’s wings with their own. “You’ll be busy making new friends in the garrison, I’ll bet. Won’t have any time to fret over me, not that you should, of course.”

“I don’t want you to go.” Castiel projected in a frequence so low, that it was practically a very silent whisper.

“Hush now. What nonsense. I have been given a great honour by the creator, there is no sense being gloomy over it, you silly thing. We are all part of the host, I’m not leaving you, not really.” (Poor young Castiel, who did not know what it felt like when half of the host truly, irrevocably was gone. And hopefully never would.) “Just be brave and keep your feathers in order.”  

The younger angel calmed down, gathering themselves a bit self-consciously. “Of course, Aziraphale.”

“There’s a good angel. Now what you say, should we take short trip around the moon, just the two of us, to see the planet, before my assignment starts?”

“I would like that very much.”

 

Crowley and Crowley

 

The year was 1723, and Fergus was not having a good time. He was, as a matter of fact, in Hell, where it was very, very, hard to have a good time.

Having just recently died, (in a gutter), three years before his ten-year contract (for three inches more in his willy), was due, he was understandably starting to think that his life choices had not entirely panned out for him.

He was being tortured, of course, but there was a certain vigour lacking in the demons assigned to torture him. There was almost a sense of disappointment in the demons, which was somehow even worse than the torture.

(Not even a murderer, this one. They never give me the big sinners to torture. Nah, always stuck with the nobodies.)

The worst hell, Fergus was starting to realise in a bout of uncharacteristic theological philosophy, was not to be found in the seventh circle, but in the humiliation of knowing that even in hell, you were unimportant, unwanted, unknown.

“That’s enough lads, we’ll take it from here.” Said a voice that sounded like nails on a chalkboard, that piqued Fergus' interest solely because it was not the same pitchfork poking him in the same place in the same rhythm by a bored demon. 

“Honestly, torture has never been part of my job description. It’s not my department of excellence, so to say. I’m a field agent, I don’t see why-“ Said a second voice, this one very sibilant.

“All demons torture the souls of the damned, Crawly. And your quota is severely lacking.”

“I’m just saying, that my skills are much more aptly used when I’m up there, bringing in the goods, so to say. And it’s Crowley.”

“Your quota is unfulfilled, Crawly.”

“But it's just that the heaven’s agent is going to run rampant with divine miracles and inspiring the mankind if I’m not there, putting stop to all that.”

“Crawly! You will torture this soul, and you will torture this soul until I am satisfied that you have not lost your demonic aptitude for torture! This is an order from the prince himself!”

“….And how long will I torture this damned soul?”

“Until it turns.”

“Until it turns!? It takes bloody decades to turn mortal souls into demonic ones! Centuries even! They can’t expect to keep me down here that long!”

“Hell can, and Hell will. If you are so eager to get back up, I recommend you make the effort to work fast and cruel, like a proper demon.”

The one with the voice like nails on a chalkboard left, leaving the sibilant hisser behind. Fergus, whose soul was metaphorically (which in hell is also literal) speaking hanging upside down from meat hooks, finally saw the form of his new tormentor as it circled around to face him.

It looked like demons looked, horrifying and disgusting to behold at the same time. There were maggots involved. There were also a lot of spikes, things that went squelch, horns, scales, and teeth in places that didn’t need teeth. The least horrifying part of it were the eyes, bright yellow and slitted like snake’s.

“Aw, don’t look like that darling. Here I was eagerly waiting for our special time together.” Fergus broke the silence that was becoming awkward. 

The demon made a noise that could almost be described as a snort.

“You are funny, human.”

“oh, stop. You’ll make me blush.”

The demon came closer, the fangs bared in something akin to a grin, which to a soul strapped to rack in hell was one of the most terrifying things one could encounter.

“I like you, human. You have spirit. What did you do to end in here?”

“Sold my soul.”

“For what?”

Fergus kept quiet. He was already in hell, he didn’t need to participate in his own torment. The demon peered closer and looked _into_ Fergus with those serpentine eyes.

“Oh, really!? For, G-, Sa-, someone’s sake! You absolute- absolute human. Three inches?! _Really_!”

“Well, in my defence, I was drunk off my ass!”

“How the hell do you get so drunk that you think that _this_ was a good idea!?”

“Aren’t you here to torture me!” Fergus huffed, thinking that a hot poker might be preferable to all this talking. 

“Yeah…about that.”

From Fergus’ upside-down angle, the demon suddenly looked fidgety and a bit awkward. Its claws twisted around in a way that for human fingers would have been fidgety. Maybe Fergus had already spent too long in hell and gotten desensitised to the visors of demons, but this one didn’t look so threatening anymore. It was still a terrifying beast straight out of your nightmares, but it looked a bit lost.

“What? You don’t like torture, demon?” Fergus mocked it, in a move that was just as intelligent as selling your soul for a longer dick.

The demon in question hissed in indignation. “I just have better things to do with my time than carve into some foolish damned. Honestly, this is so medieval.”

“Well, I’m not complaining, you can just leave me here, I won’t tell your pals that you fucked off.”

The demon hissed again, this time more deliberate, like a cobra rearing up to strike.

“nah…I was given termsssss…..but…Maybe we can make a deal. A better one for you thisssss time. A frequent cusssstomer reward…to ssssay. I need to turn you into a demon, you need to get off the rack. Fine. I’ll turn you into a demon, and you will help me to do it quickly.”

“Turn me…into a demon? Is that even…possible?”

“Yessss. It will happen eventually anyway. That’ss what happens to the souls in here. But it issss a sslow process- decades-centuries even, of torture. Twisssting the human soul, it takes time. Unlesss the human isss willing of course.”

“And then I will get to come down? Will I still be…Me?”

A way to get of the rack should have been a no brainer, but a human instinct of survival is instilled so deep that still there was a part of Fergus that rebelled against the idea of losing himself, of dying again in a sense.

“It’s not so bad, being a demon. It’s not that different. If you’re lucky, you’ll get a nice little job at the office. I can pull some strings at the crossssroads department. They’re technically under my jurisdiction.”

“Then it’s a deal,” said Fergus, knowing that he was damned already, so to hell with it all.

“Glad to do business with you, the name’s Crowley.” Said the demon and leaned in to seal it with a kiss. Despite all the fangs, the maggots, the weird shape of the mouth, and the taste of brimstone, it was not the worst kiss Fergus had received.

 

Crowley would afterwards gain a bit of a reputation as the demon who had learned such tricks in the human world that he could break a soul in less than an hour. But then again, he was the serpent and therefore had to have some truly nefarious tricks hidden behind his scales.

 

Fergus had been working at the crossroads for about a century, with Crowley dropping in to have drinks with him from time to time, like an awkward, distant relative who tries his best to be part of your life, while also trying to appear distant and cool at the same time.

“Fergus.”

“Crowley.” Fergus saluted back, with his pint of ale in the shady bar in the shadowy underbelly of London. “How’s the tempting.”

“Good, good. You know, the usual. The heavenly adversary gets in the way from time to time, but you know how it is.”

Fergus nodded, secretly suspecting that Crowley and his heavenly adversary might not be locked in an epic never-ending battle as much as the rest of hell thought they were. He was almost sure that he had spotted them feeding ducks at St. James 20 years ago.

“And how are crossroads?”

“I was promoted to higher manager about a decade ago, as a matter of fact. They think I have a talent for tempting.”

The two demons clinked their glasses together, and Crowley tasted his own drink with the tip of a very long, forked tongue.

“Concerning that…I have a proposition for you?”

“I’m listening.”

“The crossroads are technically under my jurisdiction, so I have to write the reports downstairs, but I’m not really involved these days, haven’t been in a long time, and you know hell and paperwork…”

Fergus did know. If he had thought that torture would end once he was under hell’s paycheck, he was wrong. It was debatable whether filling out hell’s paperwork was less painful than being on the rack.

“…And then I thought that it wouldn’t really matter as long as they get a yearly report from Crowley about the crossroads. They aren’t going to check.”

“What are you saying?”

“How would you like to be the new king of the crossroads? Pick Crowley as your demonic name, and you will get to share the sigil. Hell won’t care beyond that, as long as the paperwork checks out to a Crowley.”

“You are a devious, lazy bastard, serpent. Of course I’m in.”

“Cheers, mate. To a mutually beneficial business partnership!”

They drank to that, and then drank another round for the Earth and to humanity who kept them in business. Crowley had his glasses on, which was good, because after the third round, there was an embarrassing sensation of teary-eyed pride in seeing young Fergus flourish and grow into a such a promisingly wicked and enterprising young demon.


	2. Chapter 2

Half of the house was missing.

Well, assumedly the missing half of the house was still floating around, only in much smaller pieces. The night was quiet and still, very much at odds with the house ripped apart from the inside out. In the remains of the quaint family home, a dishevelled man rocking a baby on his arms was arguing with a half-giant as best as he could between his sobs. The man’s motorcycle laid abandoned on its side by the road.

“Tsk, tsk. What a mess.”

The being which had spoken was glowing slightly in the dark shadows near the scene of tragedy. No one noticed this, nor the being.

“Well, it was to be expected of course,” responded the other being, somehow blending into the shadows naturally. “It’s hardwired into his nature. A defence mechanism if you will. He won’t suffer competing dark lords on his presence.”

“And what of the plan then? Or was this also part of the plan?” The being of light asked, picking at the edges of his jacket sleeves with his well-manicured fingers.

“Not as far as I have been made aware of. Bloody humans again, sticking their noses always where they don’t belong,” the being of darkness hissed, and not in the way humans try to imitate hissing, this one was a proper hisser, a natural one even.

“I thought that this one didn’t have much of a nose to speak of.”

“It’s a figure of speech.”

“Ah. And what will they do with…it. Him. Now that this has happened?”

“I’m sure that hell can find an angle. A way to spin all this to look like it was planned all along. I mean think about it, he will be named saviour now. What better position for the antichrist to trick the world into servitude and the last great war?”

“When you put it that way.”

“I don’t put it any way. Hell does. And I know hell, now that the rich and influential parents chosen for him are no longer available, they cannot look like it wasn't their plan from the beginning. They will find the good side in this whole mess. I mean the bad side. You know.”

“I know. But our plan will continue as we have discussed.”

“Yes of course.”

“And you are sure that it was his… natural defences that caused all this?” The being of light gestured towards the destruction before them.

“Well what else would it be. "His mother's love”? Half of the street is ripped to shreds and Riddle went up in atoms.”

“Yes, yes. I guess I’m just a tad intimated. That amount of power in a one-year old…”

“I know. Me too, me too.”

 

Young Harry Potter, from Privet Drive number four, was mostly entirely normal boy. True, he had to live in his aunt and uncle’s cupboard and do most of the housework, but even if he was treated strangely, he was not a strange boy.

He was skinny, a bit knobbly, messy child, with a mess for a hair and curious eyes behind his spectacles. He was a bit of a loner, but that was to be expected from how he was treated at home. In fact, there were exactly two beings that he would count as his real friends in the whole world, and neither were children his own age. As a matter of fact, his cousin Dudley had made sure that no children in Little Whinging wanted to be friends with him.

Harry felt neither particularly vengeful nor magnanimous concerning his situation. Mostly he just hoped that he could find himself in a better situation.

The two beings he considered to be his friends were thus: the eccentric bookshop owner Mr. Fell, who for some inexplicable reason had five years ago decided to open a bookstore in the middle of little Whinging’s suburbs. His store opening hours were very inhospitable towards customers, and no matter how many times the neighbourhood committee complained about him, nothing ever came about the men sent to encourage Mr. Fell to pack up and move his shop somewhere more suitable.

As a place to get away from Dudley, a dusty bookshop was ideal. There was no way that Dudley would ever step inside a place filled with so many picture-less books, even if it was to hunt Harry. And the otherwise cranky owner was always polite to Harry, always letting him stay as long as he wanted, offering tea, cakes, and life-advice. He was very concerned that Harry learn the bountiful good qualities of mercy, kindness, and patience. Harry didn’t mind Mr. Fell’s biblical lectures as long as he got to eat the cake.

Harry’s other friend was much odder. For starters, it was not human. Instead Harry’s other confidant was a snake which lived in the field behind Harry’s school. Harry was aware that talking snakes weren’t supposed to exists, but this one undoubtedly did, and was even willing to talk to Harry, which was more than could be said for most humans.

Crawly was always eager to spend an evening or two curled near harry and even scaring away Dudley and his friends if so needed. While Crawly talked of very gruesome things and encouraged Harry to embrace his “darker side”, whatever that meant, it was okay company considering that it was a snake. Mostly Harry didn’t mind Crawly’s talk of blood and terror, he figured that that was just how snakes were.

 

Harry never talked of his association with either of his friends with the Dursleys. The Dursleys had a notable revulsion towards anything they considered to be unnatural and had made their low opinion on Mr. Fell very well known several times. Harry had quickly figured that a talking snake would score much higher in the unnaturalness board than a rude bibliophile, and it be better if the Dursleys were to never find out about Crawly.

And the Dursley's were already at their last tethers with all the strange people in strange robes seemingly appearing out of thin air to shake Harry's hand in the middle of a perfectly respectable shopping mall. And when Harry had been just a baby, the Dursleys had been plagued by all manner of strange people trying to weasel their way into their lives, from hopeful gardeners and nannies, to maids and au pairs. The Dursleys had violently rejected all and muttered about “those people” and “why can’t her freakish folk just leave us alone!?”

All in all, despite the strange things that happened around Harry, Harry himself was very normal young boy.

 

 

“He is too normal if you ask me,” hissed the snake which slithered inside the bookshop from a window that was just slightly cracked open.

Well, isn’t that a good thing then? A sign that everything is going according to our plan.” The bookshop owner answered, not lifting his eyes from his book.

“Nothing ever goes this well when we make plans.” The snake was no longer a snake and was now lounging on the armchair opposite to the bookshop owner.

“My dear. What exactly is it that has gotten you so worried.”

“Angel, we need to face the facts. He is worryingly normal wizard-boy. I mean, turning teacher’s wigs blue, floating to the roof, not exactly diabolic or, you know, divine behaviour.”

“Well, there was the whole incident with the zoo yesterday.”

“An incident where he set a snake free from its cage out of the kindness of his heart.”

“I thought that he was taking revenge on his cousin?”

“That’s not how the boa-constrictor described the incident.” (Said boa-constrictor was currently lounging around in Brazil, thanks to one demonic miracle)

“hmm. Maybe my divine influence is showing through.”

“I hope so.” The man with snake-skin shoes hissed dejectedly. “I truly hope sssso.”

 

Harry Potter’s eleventh birthday had been very dramatic and eventful, but also lacking on dogs of any kind. Harry himself did not know the significance of his dogless birthday, he was much too busy having his entire world-view rearranged to fit the fact that apparently, he was a wizard.

It wasn’t until he was in the Hogwarts express, mind still spinning from the bluster and noise of the wizarding world, and the greatest wonder of them all, that he had already made a friend.

“Bloody packed.” Muttered Ron besides him, as they searched for a compartment to sit in. He seemed annoyed. Harry did not. Harry thought that it would be impossible for anything to happen that could make him feel anything but happy that he truly was going to Hogwarts. Truly was a wizard.

They opened the door to another compartment, which was already inhabited by four other first years. Ron huffed in frustration. “Bloody Ginny, if we hadn’t been late, we would already have a place to sit-“

“You can come and sit with us. We won’t mind.”

The boy who had spoken was the most angelic looking boy Harry had ever seen. His golden curls and symmetrical features made the blond boy in the robe-shop look very shabby and common in comparison.

“you sure you won’t mind?” asked Ron, also staring.

“Of course not. As long as you are not mean to me an’ my friends.”

Harry and Ron settled down, and Harry took the opportunity to quickly introduce themselves. “I’m Harry, and this is Ron. And thanks.”

“I’m Adam. An’ these are my friends, Pepper, Brian and Wensleydale. Oh, and this is Dog.”

It was only now that Harry noticed the small dog sitting on Adam’s lap, wagging its tail and tongue lolling from its mouth.

“I thought you weren’t allowed to bring dogs into Hogwarts”. Ron said, looking slightly jealous.

“It’s fine.” Adam said with easy confidence. “I couldn’t leave Dog behind. He’s _my_ Dog.”

“Lucky you.” Muttered Ron. “All I have is Scrabbers, and he’s useless.” Ron reached inside his jacket and pulled out a fat, grey rat, which was asleep.

“You have a rat as a pet! That’s cool!” Exclaimed Brian, who looked a little like a person who belonged in the company of rats.

“It is cool. Not as cool as Dog, but still cool.” Proclaimed Adam, and instantly Ron felt better.

“So, what houses do you think you will be in?” Ron then went on, wanting to keep the conversation flowing.

“Probably Slytherin.” Said Brian immediately. “All my family has been in Slytherin.” Seeing Ron’s narrowed eyes, he continued: “We’re not blood-purists or anything, we live in a muggle village and all, and mum and dad never minded my friends even when they didn’t know that they were magical too.”

Ron still looked skeptical. “Well, _my_ mum says that everyone in Slytherin gets polluted with dark arts.”

“But surely you wouldn’t think something so mean of my friend.” Adam looked at Ron harshly.

“I guess not…” Ron admitted under Adam’s protective glare.

“Well I would like to go to Gryffindor.” Pepper interrupted the building tension. “I like the colour red.”

“And you like to fight a lot.” Brian added.

“That too.” Pepper admitted with no shame. “you know, my mom was a blood purist until she grew tired of it and met my dad, who was a muggle. Then she grew tired of also my dad and joined muggle university. My mom says that blood purity is simply Wizarding world’s way to uphold patriarchy through control of women’s reproductive freedom.”

Ron, who during his eleven years of life had never thought of the issue further than Slyhterins=dark, did not pick up Pepper’s offered debate. Harry, who still felt very lost in the unknown world of magic, decided to stay silent and not make a fool of himself.

“I didn’t even know that magic existed until I got my letter.” Said Wensleydale. “I don’t know which house would suit me.”

“Ravenclaw.” Said all three of his friends at the same time. “You are always hungry for more knowledge.” Added Pepper, teasingly.

“I guess.” Wensleydale nodded. "Do you think it matters? That you don't have magical parents, or that you didn't even know about magic until the letter?" He continued unsure of himself. He had grown up in a world where he was always the most knowledgeable one. Now being the one out of loop was throwing him off.

"They would be stupid to judge just cause what your parents are." Adam huffed. 

"Of course not. At least my family won't mind. All of my family has been in Gryffindor, so I hope that I can go there too. But we are all purebloods, always have been. Dad is crazy about muggle stuff though. Mum and Dad say that as long as you don't go dark, it doesn't matter one lick.”

Adam looked at the red-headed boy thoughtfully, and for some reason Ron found himself incapable of meeting Adam's baby-blue eyes. 

“I guess I wouldn’t mind any house.” Harry said out loud, while privately still thinking that Slytherin did not sound a good place to be. There was what Hagrid had said about them, and how they all turned dark. And the fact that their house symbol was a snake. Crawly had been good company, but that snake had also been obsessed with Harry getting in touch with his “dark side”. Harry felt like it might be better to play it safe in some other house.

“And what about you Adam?” asked Ron, turning the stares away from Harry.

“Well…” Started Adam, brow wrinkled in deep thought. “I think that Hufflepuff sounds like the best house. The house of fairness, kindness and loyalty sounds like a good place to be.”

 

 

Meanwhile, in the headmaster’s office, Dumbledore was hastily interviewing the only available candidates to fulfill the roles left behind by librarian Madam Pince and the healer Madam Pomfrey, who had decided to suddenly elope and start their honeymoon immediately.

“Well, Mr. Fell, Mr. Crowley, seeing that we are pressed for time and both of your qualifications seem to be in order, welcome to Hogwarts! Librarian Fell, Healer Crowley.”


	3. Chapter 3

Lucifer Morningstar, owner of the most popular nightclub in LA, part-time police consultant, a reluctant King of hell, and a full-time admirer of Chloe Decker, was scared. It did not happen often, but on this particular instance there was a warranted cause.

Mazikeen, Hell’s former top torturer, a current bounty hunter, and the best friend of Linda Martin, threw herself on one of Lucifer’s expensive couches and sprawled impressively. “What’s got your knickers on a twist?”

Amenadiel, Heaven’s firstborn angel, the weapon of God, and a self-proclaimed Lucifer’s babysitter leaned against the bar, looking put-upon. (This was his resting face)

Lucifer ignored the disrespect and went straight into the heart of the problem.

“The serpent of Eden is in LA.” The King of Hell proclaimed, remembering the demonic aura he had sensed while walking down the streets of Hollywood and instantly recognising that there was a very real change that he and everyone he knew were royally screwed.

 

Let’s unravel the diabolical mysteries a little bit.

 

The problem with how information flows in Hell, was the same as it tended to be on Earth. _As above so below_ , if you will.

Bureaucracy.

Crowley, (Still named Crawly in hell’s official documentations, because Hell did not believe in self-determination for identity politics) was Hell’s field agent, and therefore required to report all his activities in a meticulous fashion, with a personal presentation summarizing his activity every century.

These reports went to Hastur, a duke of hell, who did not understand why Crowley insisted on using incomprehensible human lingo in his reports, nor exactly what it was that Crowley did 90% of the time. Now, Hastur did not want to look stupid in front of anyone else. (Especially the disposable imps, who for some reason were always very up to date with earth-trends and were always glued to their infernal hellphones). To avoid potential embarrassment, Hastur tended to write his reports about Crowley’s reports according to what he believed (and sometimes just wished) the field agent to be doing.

Then those reports went to Dagon, who wrote her reviews regarding the _Human Affairs and Temptations_ office’s efficiency reports with a notable positive slant. She believed that in order to keep Hell’s morale up, (and her own skin intact) it was sometimes better to gloss over the failures and focus on the successes of her department.  

Once these reports landed on the desk of Beelzebub, the Lord of the Flies, she did her own report summarising the overview of Hell’s functionality, and she tended to think that a little polishing and a dramatic turn of phrase wouldn’t hurt in order to impress their King.

This led to the fact that Lucifer, the King of Hell, ended up practically reading the exploits of a fictional character: Crawly the Devious and Dastardly Evil Demon.

Lucifer had personally come to the conclusion that the only reason that Crawly hadn’t taken over his throne was because he enjoyed all the death and destruction which he could tempt the humanity into achieving on Earth. Of course, the King of Hell would never tell anyone about his suspicions, as any sign of weakness would be brutally exploited in Hell. But he did make sure that Crawly stayed topside as much as possible, so he wouldn’t get bored and start to get ideas for a coup in Hell. After all, out of all the demons, Crowley was the only one who regularly fought epic battles against the Principality of the Eastern Gate, Wielder of one of the universe's only four flaming swords, and a zealous weapon of heaven.

Lucifer might have been the lightbringer and an archangel, but he was also smart enough to not court danger needlessly.

 

This all goes to show that if there is a force that can defeat even the powers of Hell, it is needless bureaucracy.  

 

And if there had been any doubt about Crawly’s competence as an especially nefarious and dangerous demon, all those doubts disappeared after said demon managed to hoodwink all the forces of Hell and prevent the apocalypse.

Lucifer himself had marched through the gates of Hell, to see why the apocalypse was not proceeding as planned, and was faced with Crawly, standing there with a cocky smirk on his face and holding nothing more than a flimsy tire-iron, like facing off against Satan himself was nothing but a minor inconvenience. Lucifer should have known better than to underestimate the silver-tongued Serpent, THE tempter, but he had trusted that Crawly’s lust for blood and violence would make him eager to start the Armageddon.

But he had miscalculated. Clearly Crawly was not ready to yield his playground which offered infinite possibilities for torturing humans in new and innovative ways, as opposed to the broken souls stuck in their hell-loops.

No, when Lucifer had arrived at Earth, he was faced with the Antichrist, who was already under Crawly’s influence and had been convinced to turn his powers against the forces of Hell, against his own (metaphysical) flesh and blood.

What the investigation done afterwards had concluded was that the demon Crawly had planned the whole betrayal meticulously from the beginning, every part carefully controlled by the cunning puppet master. Starting from how he had managed to hide the real Antichrist from Hell, and managed to manipulate the vulnerable child to do his bidding, to how he had murdered a fellow demon with the greatest anathema that demon-kind knew of: Holy water.

Crawly had even managed to tempt an angel to assist him and reject the light of heaven, which already showed levels of blasphemous wickedness that other demons could only dream of.

After all was said and done, Lucifer had known that Crawly was a threat that he had ignored for too long. Sending, Hastur, Dagon and Beelzebub to deal with the rogue demon, he had for the first time in centuries been moved to pity for the demons send to face an enemy so dangerous.

When Beelzebub had walked to the throne-room, trembling and shell-shocked, Lucifer had known that he should count himself lucky to have kept his council alive and his throne intact at all. The execution had failed, and Beelzebub herself seemed to have been in too much of a shock to explain how it could have been possible for the demon Crawly to survive. 

The King of Hell had then been moved to Mercy for the first time in eons, and told his subjects that they were released from their duty to hunt down the demon Crawly, who would be from now on left alone and unbothered, as he clearly wanted to be left.

Lucifer’s own investigation towards what could have possibly motivated the Serpent of Eden, the doom of humanity, into choosing Earth over Hell had ended up with him owning a nightclub and helping the LAPD murder investigations with a human detective who he was slowly but inevitably falling in love with. Lucifer was still not sure whether he understood Crawly’s motivations or not, but was content as long as said demon did not pose a threat to anyone he lov-lik-car-tolerated.

 

Which brings us to the present day and to an emergency meeting set up in Lucifer’s penthouse.

“The serpent of Eden? Here?” Mazikeen instantly slipped from her lazy sprawl to her alert, warrior stance. She had never personally met the field agent, as she had worked her whole existence in the department of torture, but she had heard the stories. They said that Crawly had been behind the Spanish Inquisition, and even Maze had learned several new tricks from the inquisitors who had filtered into Hell in a steady stream.

“Our field agent has continually reported how difficult enemy the demon crawly is to thwart.” Amenadiel nodded in agreement to the general mood. He didn’t of course personally read the reports sent in by their field agent, but Gabriel always gave him summaries. "But then again, the last I heard, he too had gone rogue."

“What did happen with that rogue angel?” Mazikeen asked with genuine curiosity. Rumour had it, that there had been a certain amount of back-channel cooperation between Heaven and Hell in order to take down the rogue elements, which had not in the end been enough.

Amenadiel fidgeted uncomfortably. “That is Heaven’s internal information, not to be shared with Hell.”

“Oh brother! Don’t be so prejudiced. We are all on the same side here!” Lucifer rolled his eyes. Amenadiel was still his favourite sibling, (which was not saying much considering who his other siblings were *cough*Gabriel*cough*) but sometimes he could be such- such an _angel_.

(The Archangels generally regarded themselves as siblings, which was feasible as there was a limited amount of those to go around. Some of the cherubim were regarded as distant cousins and/or unfortunate step-siblings. The lower ranks of angels were given the same kinship as you might feel for the people of the same nationality as you, with all the disapproval and disappointment that they weren’t doing patriotism _right_ , that comes with it.)

“Gabriel was on charge of that operation, not me.” Amenadiel dodged. Lucifer made a face, just because he was forced to remember that Gabriel existed.

“Boys! Let's focus! So the serpent of Eden is in L.A. Are we going to approach him or not? I’m sure that I can take him in a fight.” Mazikeen twirled a blade expertly around her finger. (She was also 100% correct in her estimations)

“No. Not without a plan. I won’t risk you Maze.” Lucifer quickly said, and then looked horrified to have said something so terribly sentimental in front of witnesses.

“What I mean is-“ Lucifer rushed to explain, “Is that we should first find out what his plans are. Do some reconnaissance. We cannot afford to underestimate his capabilities again.”

With the sun setting over California, an angel, a devil, and a demon planned the best ways to find out the plans of Hell’s fugitive and the most dangerous demon on the planet, with fear curling in all of their guts, even if none of them wanted to admit it.

 

Meanwhile, an angel and a demon were dining on an exquisite sushi-restaurant, enjoying their honeymoon. The angel ordered another round of desserts, while the demon laughed at all the people making fools of themselves outside the window, because of a coin glued to the sidewalk.  


End file.
